


reprieve

by shortcircuitify



Category: Dark Souls II
Genre: F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-05-26 19:44:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15008030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shortcircuitify/pseuds/shortcircuitify
Summary: She stood before him, meek and uncertain and suddenly scared at leaving the shrine of her sisters.“You are not human.” His eyes glinted a dangerous red, and she shuddered.“No, we are not.”He studied her for a moment, “You are a Milfanito.” It was a question as much as a statement. They were never meant to meet, the children of the first. Only meant to sing and guide into death.





	reprieve

**Author's Note:**

> This is a very old work from a few years ago - I retouched it a bit, hope you enjoy!

**I.**

The insufferable singing had _stopped._ After so long she was free, _so long trapped to the whim of a demon,_ the chains holding her to the deformed creature came undone. So, she fled – fled her prison, its pounding pull at her back as she ran on unsteady feet. Away from her sisters, away from the demons that haunted her.

The crypt before her was dark, ugly – nothing like the shrine of her birth, of her sisters, but she felt it pull to her, the darkness swallowing her as she entered, its embrace comforting.

**II.**

The bonfire was already lit when she entered the crypt, casting an eerie glow against the cold, stone walls. She lit herself a torch and awed at the creatures guarding the crypt she crept through – large, volatile, yet none dare touch her. They did not give a second glance her way, and she slinked in the shadows her torch casted.

“Halt. Put that light out. Light, and all those who bear it, are unwelcome in this place."

She trembled at the powerful voice, and plunged herself and the chamber into darkness.

**III.**

She stood before him, meek and uncertain and suddenly scared at leaving the shrine of her sisters.

“You are not human.” His eyes glinted a dangerous red, and she shuddered.

“No, we are not.”

He studied her for a moment, “You are a Milfanito.” It was a question as much as a statement. They were never meant to meet, the children of the first. Only meant to sing and guide into death.

He studied her, his eyes taking in her small form – she peeked at him, curious at his large form, broad shoulders, deep voice.

She nodded in response, “You do not belong here, light one. Return to your shrine.”

She wrapped her arms around herself, “I do not wish to leave.”

He gazed at the gash tearing the side of her abdomen in sickly red, “You are hurt.” She nodded – he did not know the worse of her pain - and he grasped her arm, his hand cool, leading her past the stoic grave wardens and to a small antechamber with a bedroll, with not much else.

**IV.**

He stitched her wounds, and she whimpered pitifully, “You are not meant for combat.”

She looked upon the strange man, and watched his graceful movements, his gray skin blending in with the darkness of the room. Once he was done, he handed her some food and made to leave, speaking to her from the doorway, “You are safe here, and will be protected. But once healed, you must leave.”

“Why?”

His eyes shimmered, “Because you are light, and this place is dark. You do not thrive in places like this.”

The food warmed her belly, and the bedroll was soft to her throbbing side. She heard him enter the room, long after his post was over, but not the bedroll she lay in, and she fell asleep to the sound of his breathing.

**V.**

“At least tell us your name,” she pleaded softly.

“Do you not know it, light one? I am the Gravekeeper, known as Agdayne.”

She mulled the name over, ran it smoothly over her tongue.

“We are called Mifanito.”

“Yes, but is that all?”

**VI.**

She sang softly in her sleep, a simple hum that rang out across the small room. He felt it vibrate through his chest, soft and warm and sweet.

In that moment he knew he never wanted her to leave.

**VII.**

She explored the crypts as she healed, and none of the creatures presiding in it bothered her, but Agdayne would not let her leave without him. She did not mind. She enjoyed his quiet company.

“Do you enjoy it here?”

“We enjoy it very much,” she answered honestly.

“ _We_?”

“We, the Milfanito.”

“Ah.” He paused, “Do your sisters feel everything you are feeling?”

She paused in her walk, and turned to him, “…We don’t think so. Only we feel our elation at being in your presence.” Her cheeks flushed at the confession.

He drew close and cupped her cheek. “Then perhaps you are more than ‘we’.”

She shuddered at the cold when he drew back.

**VIII.**

She danced and sang throughout the halls of the crypt, and despite the lack of light, everything seemed brighter to the dark Fenito. He would mourn her loss when it was time for her to leave, but for now, he revelled in her presence.

**IX.**

They sat in silence, in the darkness of the crypt, when she spoke of the demon that haunted her dreams, that had destroyed her while her sisters could do no more than sing over her loss, their song mournful.

He listened intently, his red eyes boring in her. She flushed pleasantly, the concern in his eyes oddly pleasing.

“Your cut is almost healed,” he spoke quietly.

“There is more harm done to us than the cuts over our skin.”

He ran his hand across her cheek, through her hair, until his thumb rested on her shoulder, “What is there that I may do so that you can feel whole again?”

In a bout of courage, she leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss upon his cheek, “You are doing more than enough, already.”

He flashed his teeth, glinting in the dark – the first smile she had seen from him. His teeth were sharp, but she did not feel afraid.

**X.**

He snuck into her room, like a serpent hidden in shadows.

“We are cold,” she told him, and like every time she sang those words, he surrendered to her.

He slide into the bedroll behind her, and she pressed her back into his chest. His arm wrapped around her waist, and she was warm. So pleasantly warm. He kissed the back of her neck, and she shuddered. She wondered if her sisters had ever felt such comfort, and how she had lived before meeting him.

**XI.**

She was healed. She knew her sisters would not mourn her loss, would sing their praises when she returned to the shrine above.

**XII.**

“You must leave,” he finally told her. She could see the way he bit his lip while saying it, the hesitation, his arms tensed across his chest. She shone brighter than she ever had, and her physical injuries were gone, light scars replacing them.

His eyes would not meet hers. They were never meant to cross paths, two sides of the same coin, the light and the dark that could never meet.

She knew he was sad. She could feel it, felt the same heavy cloud over her own heart.

“ _I_ will return.”

He stared at her back as she returned to Amana.

**XIII.**

Time was long without her close. He missed her warmth at night, her singing filling the halls as he watched over the dead. The world shifted above, the flame dying, relighting, the cycle rekindling, none of it affecting the ever-present crypt of the dead. But there he sat.

He was cold and dark. He had mourned, bitterness rising in him, the dead around him suffering in the wake of his own torture.

**XIV.**

He heard the singing before her form found her way into his arms. His heart lilted with the notes she sang.

**XV.**

His mouth was hot against hers, her back pressed into the same bedroll she had become so accustomed to when she was here so long ago.

“You should not have returned.”

She shushed him with a quick kiss as he laid down on top of her, “I spoke to my sisters. It was a consensus. I was no longer needed.” She no longer felt their presence, their thoughts, had not for a while. Prayed to their creator, prayed for forgiveness and prayed in thanks.

He pulled away from her to stare into her bright eyes, “I am sorry.” He wasn’t, really, he had missed her too much to be sorry that her soft form was underneath him.

“Do not be, I am not,” her eyes glimmered mysteriously and she smiled, and he thanked fate that he had his light back.

**XVI.**

His mouth was hot against her mound, and she could his teeth glinting in the dark, their sharpness making her breath catch, desire pooling low in her stomach.

His tongue licked her, and she moaned, high and keening. She felt him laugh against her thigh.

**XVII.**

She stayed, and she thrived in the dark. He thrived in the brilliance of her light. The centuries passed, but the crypt was the same, and the dead rejoiced for their Milfanito.


End file.
